Up to Chance
by Wetstar
Summary: For the 25th Hunger Games, tributes were voted in by their district. The first Quarter Quell must live up to its promise to shake things up a bit and give the Capitol an exciting show. (Trigger warnings for blood, self harm and suicide)


_**Victor's POV**_

I twirl the knife around and around in my hands, taking deep jagged breaths. It's been hard to breathe lately. It's been hard to breathe for a while.

 _Black hair caked with blood, red eyes glistening in the darkness, a girl screaming as she's ripped apart by mutts._

Some of these images are my own. I saw them with my own two eyes, I felt the terror. Some of them I've only seen on film, but I knew the people it happened to. I walked where it had happened.

 _She had a brother, he had a sister, they had grown close in the arena. He was feeding his family, she was caring for too many, it all hurts too much._

When I first got out if the arena, I read everything I could about the other tributes. Every Capitol website, magazine, newspaper. Anything I could get my hands on. I rewatched each interview.

 _A dark green jacket with holes torn in it, blood seeping through, an ax soaked in blood, a girl with her limbs at awkward angles._ _  
_  
Did any of them deserve to die? Did this truly have to be their fate? What was the point? It didn't accomplish anything besides giving me nightmares for the rest of my life.  
 _  
_ _A slit throat, blood trickling down and soaking the neck of a T-shirt, shocked eyes, the life fading from them fast, moonlight reflecting off of stone._

The knife's light, the handle made of wood that's been polished until it shines. It would be beautiful if only...  
 _  
_ _A knife sticks out of her chest and she struggles to continue breathing, a knife digs into his neck, blood spurting up around it._

If only it weren't so deadly.

 _Small hands fiddle with the skirt of her dress, large hands brush the hair out of his eyes, it's cold and she rubs at her arms._ _  
_  
I don't want to carry the knife around with me, but at the same time, I don't feel safe without it. I'm still in fight or flight mode, and I need to be ready to fight.  
 _  
_ _He clutches at his stomach, a choked noise comes out, he stares up at his killer in shock._ _  
_  
Do I deserve to be alive? Was what I did justified? Can I be forgiven?

 _A backpack carried over tiny shoulders, brown hair tied back in a braid, fingers fumbling with shoelaces._

What terrifies me more? The memory of a sword being swung at my head, or the memory that he bit that necklace when he was nervous?  
 _  
_ _An arm raised to block a blow to the head, fingers pulling back an arrow, a knife clenched tightly in her fist._

You know how this story ends.

 _ **Ray Pyle, 15 years old, District Eight**_

I'm woken up by a small weight landing on my stomach. I groan and rub my eyes with one hand, feeling around next to my bed for my glasses with the other. With my glasses on, I recognize the weight as my little brother. "Is that my new wakeup call?" I can't help but smile at the wide grin that spreads across his face as he nods. "Mmkay. Get off me so I can get some food though, okay?"

Ritter scrambles off and leaves our bedroom, most likely for the kitchen. If you can call it that at all. It's just a small room next to the washroom where we keep the small amount of food that we have. We don't have a stove or refrigerator like the richer families do. We don't need them. We don't have meat very often - not unless I can catch something in the woods if I get the chance to go out. And if I do manage to catch something, we can just build a fire outside to cook it and eat it right away.

I get up and get dressed before following Ritter to the kitchen. He's perched on one of the stools we have there, his legs tucked under him, making him look smaller than ever. He needs to have more food. Desperately.

I always feel guilty about his size. He's small because I can't provide for him. I know it's my fault. And Dad's, I guess. But mainly mine. I should've dropped out earlier, I should take more hours at the factory, I should try to get more of the foods that he needs...

I was lucky. Mom was still around when I was little, Dad wasn't drunk every other night, and we were doing okay. I was able to grow properly. We were... happy. I don't blame Ritter for us being unhappy now. Or at least, I try not to. It's not his fault. It's Mom's, and Dad's, and... mine. I'm not blameless in all of this. I could've tried harder to fix things. It's not his fault Mom couldn't handle having a child who would never say her name and decided to split. It's not his fault Dad couldn't handle Mom leaving and decided to start drinking. It's not his fault.

There's a tug on my sleeve and I look down to see Ritter staring up at me with big hazel eyes. He gives me thumbs up, sticking his bottom lip out slightly. _Are you okay?_ It's not proper sign language, of course. We would never be able to afford a book that could teach it to us and the teachers at his school don't care enough to help him. They've just decided that he's going to amount to nothing without giving him the chance to prove himself.

I push his hair out of his eyes gently. It needs to be cut. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking. Go sit down again, I'll see what food I can find."

He returns to his stool while I go to the small cupboard where we keep the bread and fruit that we're able to buy. There's not much there today: only a couple of apples and a bun. I tear off a third of the bun for myself and give the rest to Ritter along with one of the apples. His eyes light up as soon as he sees the food and he starts eating instantly. I sit down on the other stool, trying to figure out how to bring up the subject of the reaping today.

Is it really a reaping though? The tributes have already been decided upon. There's no hope for them. No volunteers are allowed this year. All that's left is telling the district who they are. I think this is the first year that Ritter might actually understand what I mean when I explain the Games to him. I have to go about this carefully.

"Hey Ritter... You know that the reaping's today, right?" He nods. "Do you remember how I told you that it's for the Games?" Another nod. "Well... When people go to the Games, they usually don't come back." He tilts his head to the side slightly. _Why?_ "They... They die. And when someone dies, you won't see them again. Ever." Another head tilt. "Because they're gone. And you can't see them until you die as well. And dying hurts a lot." He bites his lip and stares at the floor. "And there's... There's a chance that... That I might have to go to the Games." His head shoots up again. "And if I go... I probably won't be coming back." He flings his arms around my waist and shakes his head. "I wouldn't have a choice. But if I go - which I might not - you'll have to be very brave, okay? You'll have to look after yourself, and keep yourself safe. You can't rely completely on Dad." He shakes his head again and hugs me tighter. It's not a sign, but the meaning is clear. _Stay._ "I will. I might not be reaped. I just want you to be prepared, okay?" He hesitates before giving me a small nod. "Good. Come on, let's do something fun before the reaping."

We head out to the market, where only a few vendors have their stalls open, most wishing to stay home with their families before the reaping. One of them sells knickknacks and we head to that one first. It's manned by a boy with blond hair and glasses with a small crack in one of the lenses. He gives us a wide smile. "Hi! Are you guys looking for anything in particular?"

I shake my head. "We're just looking for something interesting. We're not buying anything though."

He nods and is quiet for a minute or so before speaking up again. "You'll be in the reaping today, won't you?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah."

"Here." He picks up a bracelet from the other end of the table and hands it to me. "It's a good luck charm. Free of charge."

"Oh... Thank you." The bracelet's made from straw, small pieces of metal with carvings in them woven throughout. "How did you make this? Straw's not exactly... conventional."

He smiles. "It's a tradition where I come from. I used to live in one of the outer sections of the district, but I moved in more last year."

"Oh. Well, thanks. Hopefully this'll work... Not much it can do now though..."

The vendor looks thoughtful. "No, I guess that's true... Ah, but there's still a few more years for you, right? So take it anyways. You never know when you might need a little luck." He gives me a wide smile.

"Yeah... Thank you." The half-hour warning buzzer goes off and the vendors start to pack up their stalls. "Uh, what's your name?"

He looks up from closing lid on one of the boxes on the table. "Hm? Oh, uh, Rain. You two should get going. Don't want to be late."

I nod and take Ritter's hand again. "Thanks for the good luck charm."

"Not a problem." He stacks the boxes on top of each other and heads into the nearby warehouse while we head towards the main square.

Ritter gives my hand a small tug. I look down at him. "Yeah?" He gives me a thumbs up and gestures back towards the market. "Yeah, he was nice." _Hopefully he makes it through the reaping safely,_ I add silently.

Ritter's grip on my hand gets tighter the closer we get to the square. I give him the most reassuring smile I can manage. "Hey, look at me?"

He shakes his head, burying his face in my side. I stroke his hair gently. "I'm going to be alright, okay? And once the reaping's done, we won't have anything to worry about for a while. We can do something fun, okay?" I glance around quickly for Peacekeepers before quietly adding "I'll take you into the woods after, okay? That'll be fun. We can see if we can catch some squirrels, okay?" He wipes his eyes and gives me a small nod. "It'll be over soon, okay? Stay behind the ropes until then, and I'll meet you by the bakery after, okay?" I kiss the top of his head gently. "I love you." He signs it back to me - the only actual sign we're both able to remember- before letting go to let me get into the sign in line.

Once they've taken my blood, I head to the 15-year-old section and stand near the edge, trying to avoid the others as much as they try to avoid me. I've never gotten along well with the rest of my grade, even when I was still in school. It was never by my own choice though, always theirs. I'm still not sure what I did to make them hate me. I don't care that much now though. I don't have time to.

Wynfor Ambrož Buranek takes the stage, his suit even more complex this year than any other. He must be going big for the Quell. The top starts as orange, leading into yellow near the bottom of the jacket and gradually turning into blue near the knees. In other words, it's ugly as fuck.

He adjusts the microphone so that it's short enough for him, before pulling an envelope out of his jacket. I swallow hard, trying to remove the lump from my throat. That must have the names of the tributes in it.

"As you all know," Wynfor begins, "the tributes this year were _voted_ in by their district. This is an exciting new twist just for the Quarter Quell! Your tributes will get the _exciting_ chance to go to the Capitol and compete in the 25th Annual Hunger Games!" He pauses, obviously waiting for us to applaud. No one does. He clears his throat pointedly and one or two people do. It seems to satisfy Wynfor though, because he continues, opening the envelope as he speaks. "In this envelope, I have the names of your two tributes. And the girl is..." He peers at the paper, squinting a little bit. "Madison Tweed!"

The sixteen-year-old girls group is set into motion as they all try to make room for Madison to get through. The name sounds familiar, but I don't place it until I actually see her. We went to the same school before I dropped out. She was fast, that's about all I remember about her. I remember her younger sister Brittany more, but all I remember is that she was in my class one year, went by Britt, and broke my glasses when I got a higher mark on a math test than her.

Wynfor shakes Madison's hand enthusiastically when she gets on stage. "Oh, it's wonderful to have you up here, Madison! Such lovely hair you have! Now just stand right there while I read out your district partner's name!"

To Madison's credit, she's remaining pretty calm and stone-faced, sparing just a quick glance towards the girls' side of the square, presumably towards Britt.

Wynfor pulls the second piece of paper out of the envelope and squints again. "Raymont Pyle!"

Oh shit. I slip out of my section, trying to get my legs to stop trembling so much. I almost fall on my way up the stairs but Wynfor grabs my arm, yanking me up onto the stage. "Wonderful to have you up here as well! And oh, your eyes are nice! Now come over here and shake Madison's hand! There we go!" Madison avoids my eyes when she shakes my hand, staring firmly over my shoulder instead. "Wonderful, wonderful! Now, into the Justice Building you go!" He just about throws us into the Justice Building, letting the Peacekeepers manhandle us to our rooms while he finishes up the Reaping outside.

 _ **Henry Shepard, 18 years old, District Ten**_

It's early in the morning by the time I get home, stumbling up the rickety stairs to our small apartment. Dust fills the air, covers the steps like snow, and the sweet smell of drugs is heavy. It's disgusting. I wish I could get out of here, or at least get us to a lower apartment. Mom won't be able to take the stairs for very much longer.

I pull out my key and head inside, being careful not to step on the creaky board. It's too early for the kids to already be up, and I want them to get as much sleep as they can today. Especially Callum. The first couple of years in the reaping are always the hardest, and it seems like this year's going to be harder than any other.

Mom's already up when I come in, taking her pills with a glass of water.

"How is it this morning?" I ask. Mom suffers from Chronic Pain Syndrome and needs to take painkillers every morning, but even that doesn't help much. She can't work in the factories or on the ranches because of it, so that leaves me as the sole provider for our family. Five mouths is a lot to feed but I do what I have to in order to ensure that everyone eats at the end of the day.

"It's alright. Go get some sleep before they wake up. I'll try to keep them out of your room until it's time to get ready for the reaping."

I give her a small smile. "Thanks."

I head to my room at the back of the apartment: if you can really call it a room. It's really just a bed with a drawer for clothes under it. Not even enough space to move around the bed. I'm rarely home though, so I don't really mind it that much.

I'm out as soon as my head hits the pillow.

* * *

I'm woken up by Duff launching himself onto me. "Harry! It's time for the reaping! Mommy said to wake you up!"

I push myself up onto my elbows and give him a small smile. "Hey kiddo. How's it going?"

"Awesome!"

"Great! Why don't you go see if Mommy needs any help, okay?"

"Okay!" I help him off the bed and watch him run off before go closing the door, making sure that the latch at the top in secure in case one of the kids tries to get in.

I pull off my clothes, wincing at the bruises that cover my chest and stomach. They're not as bad as they sometimes are, but I'd still rather that the kids don't see them. My shirt from last night gets tossed to the corner of my room behind the door with the rest of my dirty clothes. The lack of shirts in my drawer reveal that I'll need to do laundry this afternoon, so I just grab an orange one from near enough to the top of the pile that it hopefully won't smell too badly. I pull it on over a blue tank top and leave the top few buttons open before doing up my suspenders. Decent.

Beatrix and Duff are at the table eating oatmeal when I come out of my room. "Where's Mom and Callum?"

"Callum's in his room and Mom's with him." Beatrix says through a mouthful of oatmeal.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," I tell her before going into Callum's room. He's curled up on his bed crying, Mom gently stroking his hair.

"It's alright to be scared, sweetheart. But everything's going to be just fine. You're not going to be picked today. They're going to choose one of the big kids."

"But what if it's me?" he whimpers, wiping at his eyes. "I'll die in there!"

"It won't be you. I promise. Tonight you'll sleep here and you'll be safe."

"Promise?"

"I promise." She gently pushes his hair out of his eyes. "Now dry your eyes and come and have your breakfast." She gets up and heads out of his room.

Callum sits up when I come into the room. "I-I'm sorry, Harry... I'm trying to be brave, but-"

I cut him off. "You are. It's natural to be scared right now. You're doing just fine. Tell you what." He looks up at me, brown eyes overflowing with tears. "After we get back from the reaping, I'll teach you how to run the trains." It's something he's being begging me to teach him after he watched me run one when I was late for work once. I haven't wanted to teach him because it's pretty dangerous, but it'll keep his mind on something happy.

"Really?!" Callum wipes his tears away quickly. "But you always said I was too young!"

"Changed my mind. As soon as we get back, I'll teach you." The train tracks go right past our apartment window, so it's easy enough to get on if you know how to. It's how I usually run the train. But it might be easier to go a few buildings down. It's a smaller building so the roof's level with the tracks and allows you to get a running start.

Callum beams at me. "Awesome!"

"C'mon now, bud. Let's get to the reaping."

Mom has already gone ahead with Beatrix and Duff, giving me privacy to take care of Callum. I lock up behind us, knocking on doors as we head downstairs. The last thing I want Callum - or worse, Beatrix or Duff - to see today is the Peacekeepers whipping one of our neighbours because they weren't at the reaping.

We're about three blocks from the square when Callum freezes up. Assuming that it's just nerves, I take his hand and give him a small tug. "Come on bud. It'll be alright."

"H-Harry... I don't... I don't have my rock..." His eyes begin to fill with tears again. I swear quietly to myself.

His rock. His rock. It's his good luck charm. He's convinced that without it he'll be reaped. "It's okay. It's gonna be okay, Callum. I'll run back and get it, be back before the reaping's started. Promise. You go ahead, get in your section. I'll find you. Promise." He gives me a quick nod.

I turn around and run back home, getting some pitying looks from strangers in the process. _I'm not trying to run away,_ I want to tell them. _I'm not a coward. I don't run from a fight._

I slam the key in the lock, bashing my shoulder against the door as I attempt to open it while it's still closed. Once I get the door open I race to Callum's room, almost tripping over his schoolbag as I tear about his bedroom looking for his rock collection. I find it in a small box on the windowsill and dump the contents out on the bed. _Shit. They all look the same._

No. They can't. Callum's lucky rock has a green vein through it. He says that's what makes it so lucky. I pick up rock after rock, checking them for a green vein. Nope, nope, not that one, nope, _yes._ I grab the rock and race back outside, quickly locking the door behind me before taking the stairs three at a time. _Shit, shit, shit! I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!_

The run back is completely empty, everyone already at the reaping. My footsteps echo in the street, my breath sounding ragged in my ears. _Almost there._ I can hear the drone of the microphone as Sequoia Reynolds speaks into it. I can feel my annoyance levels rising.

When I enter the square, the reaping's already half over. A girl with tan skin is already up on stage, fiddling with the bottom of her braid as Sequoia struggles to pull out the second slip of paper.

I try to sneak around the edges to get to the group of eighteen-year-olds, but a Peacekeeper spots me first. "Hey! You!"

His loud shout attracts the attention of Sequoia, who briefly pauses in her attempts to remove the name from the envelope. But the second his fist hits my stomach and I double up, she's back to her struggles. Probably to keep the cameras off of us.

The Peacekeeper grabs me by my hair, hissing in my ear, "Why so late, you little shit?" He punches me in the stomach again. Winded, I'm unable to reply before someone calls my name.

"Henry Shepard!"

It takes me a second to realise that it was Sequoia, Sequoia was the one who called my name, and then I'm staring at her, unable to form any words at all, not to the Peacekeeper, not even a prayer for my safety. Callum's stone is cold and smooth in my hand and all I can think was that it was supposed to be protection, it was supposed to bring luck. And then there's a horrible, horrible screaming and I'm faintly aware of the fact that it's Callum, Callum's screaming, why can't they stop his screaming...

The Peacekeeper notices my stunned look and yanks me upwards. "That's you, huh?" He shoves me forwards. "Go on then."

I stumble towards the stage, people parting to let me through. Sequoia looks like this is the worst day of her life, _of course she'd get the delinquent,_ and I resist the urge to tell her that she hasn't seen anything yet. I'm shoved up the steps by the Peacekeeper at the bottom, somehow managing to keep my balance. And all the time, all I can hear is Callum's screams ringing in my ears, even though he's stopped screaming by now, and all I can feel is the stone in my hand, smooth barring one green vein.


End file.
